Può la realizzazione di ogni desiderio renderci davvero felici? E che cosa distingue il bisogno essenziale dall’aspirazione che non conosce fine? In questo saggio originale in lingua inglese, Giuseppe Tocchetti (che firma il testo «Joseph Tocchetti») riflette sul legame tra desiderio, speranza, ricchezza, maturità e accettazione dei limiti. Pubblichiamo il contributo integrale in inglese, senza abbreviazioni e senza alcuna «penale»: la lunghezza è parte della profondità della riflessione.
Testo originale in inglese. I sottotitoli sono redazionali e servono esclusivamente a facilitare la lettura. La revisione si limita alla suddivisione dei paragrafi e alla correzione di due refusi manifesti; il pensiero e la voce dell’autore sono conservati.
The question of desire
When I reflect on the theme of desire and possibility, I find myself asking what I consider a central question for understanding human nature: if every one of my desires could be fulfilled, would I truly be happier? Every human being, myself included, lives immersed in a multitude of desires. Some are simple and immediate, while others are profound and difficult to define.
Some concern concrete needs, while others involve aspirations that seem to slip continually beyond our grasp. The problem arises when desires are not matched by the possibilities necessary to realize them. It is precisely in this space, suspended between what I desire and what I can obtain, that much of my experience of life unfolds.
I therefore wonder whether happiness truly depends on the satisfaction of desires or on something more subtle. As time has passed, I have come to believe that the essence of human existence does not lie in the possibility of fulfilling every expectation, but rather in the tension that drives us toward what we do not yet possess. Desire is a force that directs my journey, a call toward something I imagine to be better, more complete, more fulfilling.
For this reason, I believe that if every desire were instantly fulfilled, a fundamental dimension of human experience would disappear. Waiting, hope, uncertainty, and even the effort required to achieve something all contribute meaning to the final outcome. It is not merely the possession of the desired object that generates satisfaction; often it is the path leading to it that gives value to the destination.
Desire, wealth and necessity
Looking more closely, I find the comparison between the rich and the poor particularly interesting. At first glance, it would seem that the wealthy, possessing greater means, also have greater opportunities to realize their desires. Yet I realize that desire never truly disappears.
The poor desire what they cannot have; the rich, despite all they possess, continue to desire what still eludes them. The object of desire changes, but desire itself remains. This leads me to ask whether the end result of these two situations is truly the same.
My answer is no. It is true that the structure of desire appears identical. Both the rich and the poor long for something they do not possess.
Both experience a sense of lack and project part of themselves toward a future imagined as better than the present. In this sense, desire seems almost democratic: it makes no distinction between economic conditions, education, or social standing. It manifests itself as a universal tension toward what remains beyond reach.
Yet on closer inspection, I notice that the consequences of fulfillment can be profoundly different. Obtaining food while suffering from hunger is not equivalent to obtaining a yacht when one already enjoys a comfortable life. In the first case, a concrete, immediate, and vital suffering is relieved.
In the second, something is added to an already satisfactory condition. The difference lies not only in the object desired, but also in the meaning that object holds for the person who desires it. For the poor, the fulfillment of a desire may represent a profound transformation in living conditions.
It can mean security, dignity, autonomy, and freedom from daily fear. In such circumstances, fulfillment produces a change that is not merely psychological but also material and tangible. For the wealthy, by contrast, desire often operates on a different level.
It does not necessarily concern survival or essential needs, but rather prestige, exclusivity, recognition, or the overcoming of increasingly subtle limits. Consequently, its fulfillment may be less stable and more fleeting. What is obtained can quickly lose its appeal, making way for a new objective.
I am therefore inclined to think that desire does not grow in proportion to what I possess, but rather according to the distance I perceive between what I am and what I would like to become. That distance can exist in both poverty and wealth. The objects change, but the underlying mechanism remains the same.
Relief, pleasure and hope
There is, however, another significant distinction. When a person satisfies an essential desire, they often experience gratitude and relief born from the end of deprivation. When they satisfy a non-essential desire, they experience mainly a temporary increase in pleasure.
Relief and pleasure are not the same thing. The first liberates us from suffering; the second adds a positive emotion that inevitably fades over time. For this reason, I do not believe the outcomes of these two paths can be considered identical.
Desire springs from the same human root, but it bears different fruits depending on the soil in which it grows. Yet once the goal is reached, something happens that unites both experiences: desire rarely comes to an end. It is almost as though human beings are not made to remain in possession, but to set out continually on new journeys.
I also wonder whether hope is greater in the rich or in the poor. Here again, I cannot formulate an absolute answer. It may seem that those with greater means have a better chance of transforming their desires into reality and therefore have a more grounded hope.
Yet hope does not depend solely on objective possibilities. More often, it is nourished by inner strength, imagination, and the ability to envision a future different from the present. At times, those with fewer material resources develop an even more intense hope because they perceive more clearly the value of change.
At other times, those who possess much continue chasing ever higher goals, living in a state of constant dissatisfaction that drives them to hope endlessly for something more. In both cases, a surprising truth emerges: hope is not necessarily proportional to real possibilities. Finally, I ask myself what happens after an objective has been achieved.
Is fulfillment ever definitive? My impression is that it rarely is. Every milestone reached opens new horizons, new desires, and new expectations.
What yesterday appeared to be the ultimate destination becomes tomorrow’s point of departure for a new search. Perhaps this is the most fascinating paradox of all. I do not desire only what I lack.
Through desire, I continually construct new images of myself. And when one of those images becomes reality, another immediately appears on the horizon. Desire, therefore, is not merely a lack to be filled, but one of the forces that shape and accompany the entirety of human existence.
The desires we cannot fulfil
There are, however, certain desires before which every difference between people grows faint and almost disappears. In such moments, I no longer see the rich and the poor, the powerful and the vulnerable. I see only human beings.
Like everyone else, I have wished at least once to stop time while living a moment of happiness. I have wished that a loved one would never die. I have wished to go back and correct a mistake or a word I should never have spoken.
And perhaps more than once, I have wished to be understood, welcomed, or loved by someone who could not return what I felt. I know well that none of these desires can truly be fulfilled. Yet I do not consider them useless.
The more I reflect on them, the more I realize that these impossible desires are precisely what give depth to my existence. If time did not pass, perhaps I would never learn to appreciate the value of a moment. If life had no end, I would probably never feel the urgency to live it fully.
If I could erase every mistake, I would never learn to accept my limitations or grow through them. For this reason, I do not regard unattainable desires as a curse. I see them as mysterious companions on life’s journey.
They remind me that there is something beyond my will and beyond my possibilities. They remind me that not everything can be possessed, controlled, or conquered. Here the rich and the poor become alike once more.
The wealthy cannot buy back lost time, and the poor are no more disadvantaged in the face of death, unrequited love, or regret. Before these fundamental desires, we are all equally fragile and equally human.
The risk of endless desire
Yet at this point in my reflection another question arises. If desire is such an important force, is there also a danger that it may become infinite? I realize that not all desires necessarily lead to serenity.
Some can transform into an endless pursuit of something that recedes each time I believe I have reached it. If every goal is immediately followed by another, if every achievement creates a new lack, I risk living in a permanent state of dissatisfaction. In that case, desire, rather than enriching life, may become a form of bondage.
I may never appreciate what I possess because my gaze is always fixed on what I still lack. For this reason, I believe desire must be accompanied by a virtue that is often overlooked: acceptance of limits. Accepting limits does not mean giving up growth, abandoning dreams, or renouncing aspiration.
It means recognizing that not everything depends on me, that not everything can be conquered, and that some things retain their value precisely because they escape my control. As time passes, I come to understand that maturity consists not only in learning how to desire, but also in learning how to discern. Some desires deserve to be pursued with courage; others must be scaled back; still others must be released.
There is wisdom not only in achievement, but also in renunciation. Perhaps true freedom does not consist in obtaining everything I desire, but in refusing to become a prisoner of my desires. When I can accept what I cannot change while continuing to strive for what I can improve, desire and limitation cease to be adversaries and become companions on the journey.
Toward acceptance and freedom
Perhaps this is where my reflection ultimately leads. For a long time I believed that the main problem was the distance between desire and possibility. Today I think the issue is deeper than that.
An important part of my humanity arises from the presence of desires that I will never fully realize. They do not exist in order to be satisfied, but to point me toward a direction, an horizon toward which I can strive. I therefore arrive at the conclusion that human beings do not live solely to obtain what they desire.
Above all, they live through the continuous search for what they might become. Happiness, at least as I understand it today, lies neither in the complete absence of desire nor in its total fulfillment. Rather, it emerges from the delicate balance between desire and possibility, dream and reality, aspiration and acceptance, between what I am and what I aspire to become.
For this reason, I believe that the true secret of life does not consist in reaching a final destination. It lies in continuing the journey without ceasing to desire, while also refraining from demanding that every desire be fulfilled. Maturity is born not from renouncing dreams, but from harmony between what I pursue and what I accept.
Every goal achieved opens new questions. Every fulfilled desire generates another. Every horizon reached reveals a more distant one beyond.
Yet I understand that I do not need to reach every horizon in order to give meaning to the journey. Sometimes it is enough simply to know in which direction I am walking. And perhaps my greatest wealth lies not in what I possess, but in my ability to look beyond what I possess toward what I continue to imagine, hope for, and desire, without forgetting that limitation, mystery, and incompleteness are also part of the human condition.
As long as this balance between desire and acceptance endures, I will know that my journey is not yet over.
Ernst Bloch and the “not-yet”
I could say that while Ernst Bloch understands desire primarily as the force that directs human beings toward the “not-yet,” I see desire both as the horizon that calls me forward and as an awareness of the boundaries within which my human journey unfolds. It is precisely the balance between these two dimensions, the tension toward what is possible and the acceptance of what remains incomplete, that gives meaning to my path.
Philosophical influences
This reflection owes much to the influence of St. Augustine, Blaise Pascal, Aristotle, and Viktor Frankl. Drawing on their insights, I have sought to articulate a form of existential humanism in which desire is neither suppressed nor idolized.
Instead, it is understood as a fundamental dimension of the human condition, one that must be reconciled with gratitude, self-awareness, and acceptance of life’s inevitable limits. In this view, human flourishing emerges not from getting everything we want, but from learning how to live meaningfully between what we seek and what we can attain.
Autore: Giuseppe Tocchetti (firma originale: Joseph Tocchetti). Fonte: manoscritto «DESIREE.docx», trasmesso alla Redazione SoleLuna ITALIA News il 7 novembre 2026. Il contributo è una riflessione personale; non attribuiamo agli autori filosofici citati dichiarazioni letterali non documentate.
Immagine illustrativa: sentiero nella nebbia, fotografia di Yves Moret / Unsplash.
Impaginazione e nota introduttiva a cura della Redazione SoleLuna ITALIA News — Orizzonte Comune, con assistenza digitale; testo principale originale dell’autore.
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